Love's Agony
by XxScriboLegoxX
Summary: "You said you wanted to hear my suffering… to… to… taste it," she breathed, glancing around at the waiting monsters around her. "I do child," he responded. "Th-then my s-suffering should belong t-to you." Pinhead/OC
1. Chapter 1

**I do not own Hellraiser, the concept, or any of it's characters. I just have an unhealthy and disturbing crush on Pinhead. **

**_Warning_****_: Will be very DARK_**

_Kind of Hellraiser binged recently and wanted to try my hand at a Pinhead story. Hopefully it doesn't suck. Let me know what you think. If people seem to like it I will definitely update soon. If not, since I need to get Pinhead out of my system, I will post chapters as I get around to them. _

_Biggest thing, if you think Pinhead is out of character please let me know. Also any major mistakes found, send me a PM or a review (though I would prefer that be in a PM) and I will correct it. Thanks! _

_Hope you like it. Let me know what you think!_

_Enjoy!_

**I**

Ellie struggled to get the poster up on the wall as her suit mates walked into the living room. Christine was speaking about the presents her grandfather brought her back from the east and it took everything in her not to roll her eyes. It was their junior year, and since they all met and became friends during their freshman year, she had struggled to tolerate her good friends bragging. It was always the first day, when her grandfather came back from his trips to the Far East, that was the worst. If she could survive the next three hours of boasting, she would do just find.

She jumped down from the kitchen table once the poster was up and got down. Her shoulders fell as she looked at it. It was Anna that pointed out how crooked it was, though it was obvious by looking at it. She sighed and stood again, cursing the inconvenience but she could not even get a word in to ask if the new position was straight before she jumped down.

When she got down she saw once again that the poster was not straight and she sighed in exasperation. Anna called to her, and Christine concurred, that she could fix it later. Christine had gifts to show off and everyone had to be present for that. She sat down in the common room and looked at the array of things spread out on the table. There were necklaces, paintings, jewelry, and two jewelry boxes. As Christine was explaining them Ellie tilted her head to the side. She reached out and picked up a small, ornately decorated box. It was pretty, and she examined the intricate designs with respect.

She ignored the sound of Christine's brags and tilted her head to the side. The box was truly very beautiful. She trailed her thumb around the circle on the side of the box, curious as to the texture of the smooth gold plating.

"That's one of my favorites," Christine said when she saw it in Ellie's hands. "My grandfather said the guy he bought it from said it summoned demons."

Anna made a fake ghost noise and wiggled her fingers in the air. Christine laughed and Ellie smiled, but she could not take her eyes from the box. It was magnificent. It was warm beneath her fingers. It pulsed. Like it had a heart beat. Slow, even beats. Boom, boom, boom. Her fingers trembled slightly.

"It has a heartbeat," she said and Christine and Anna both looked at each other before erupting into fits of giggles.

"Ellie, it's a fucking puzzle box," Anna laughed.

"Here, let me see," Christine said and reached out.

"Wait –"

She was about to hand it to Christine but it slipped from her fingers and landed on the table. She felt her fingers tingling as she looked at it, eyes slightly widened.

"What a fucking klutz," Anna joked. They all fell silent when it began to move, part of the box jutting upward and turning. It sunk back down, leaving it in a sort of star configuration. Before any of the girls could say a word it turned again, back into the box.

"What did you do?" Christine asked.

"I… I just held it," Ellie answered. Her mouth was dry and her throat constricted painfully. She reached underneath her long sleeve shirt and scratched the scars she found there.

"If you broke it Ellie I swear to God –"

Christine cut short as the room began to shake. The earth trembled beneath her feet and she looked around at her friends in confusion. She did not know why, but as she lowered herself to the ground to find cover, she reached out and grabbed the strange box. She held it close to her as she slid under the table. The world rocked and she screwed her eyes shut. She heard Anna and Christine call out and shout, but she said nothing, clutching at the box. The world stilled suddenly and she waited a moment before opening her eyes. She was suddenly very, very cold, and as she opened her eyes she gave the box a squeeze to make sure it was still there.

Her breath came out in plumes as the cold air bit at her skin and her first irrational thought was that she was glad she wore long sleeves even in the summer. She bit her lower lip and sat up looking around into the back nothingness that surrounded her. For a moment she thought the lights had gone out, but it had been the middle of the day and the windows open. Had she fallen unconscious? It was possible she assumed but the floor wasn't right. It was hard, cold, and damp. She shivered.

"Heh-hello?" she called and pushed herself up to her feet. She could not see a thing, not even her hand when she waved it in front of her face. "Anna? Christine? Are you there?"

She held the box close to her as she began to shiver, but not from the cold. She hated the dark. She had always hated the dark. She felt alone, vulnerable, easily preyed upon. She felt tears sting at her eyes as the reality of the situation began to hit her. Confusion was always worse when couple with abject terror, and it did not take long for a tear to slide down her cheek. She stood still, waiting, listening, and straining to hear a single noise.

"Please!" she called. "Is anybody there? Oh God help me."

_God is absent from this place, child._

The voice came from all around her. It was low and deep. It touched a part of her soul she had never felt before and shivers erupted through her, her spine acting as an epicenter. Her skin tingled and she whirled around, looking for who had spoken to her but saw only darkness. Terror gripped her, consumed her. Absolute hysteria, horror and terror. A fear she had never felt. It washed over her, the darkness making it all the more impossible to bare. Nothing like this had ever been experienced by the frightened young girl spinning around in the darkness.

"Who… who's there?" she called, but her voice was hardly above a whisper.

_Your greatest desires. _

The voice now had a location. She whirled around to face it, her lips trembling. Tears streamed down her face and she trembled, the box pressed tightly to her stomach, her fingers turning white as she gripped it.

"I… don't hurt me please," she called out. Laughter echoed against walls she could not see. It bombarded her ears and she felt sick. She began walking backwards, stumbling away from the cruel voice, the evil laugh. She screeched when she heard the rattling of chains and she felt blinding pain. A spike slid through the skin of her palm and hooked at the back of her hand. Then her second hand and the box was ripped from her grip and fell to the ground by her feet. She cried as her hands were brought up over her head. She thought the metal would rip through the soft flesh, but chains then encircled around her wrists, preventing her flesh from ripping completely.

_Hurt… such a mundane word, so human. That word does not begin to express the agony I will give you._

The voice was coming toward her. Tears dripped from her eyes and she sobbed. She shook her head, not understanding.

"Where am I?" she sobbed. "Let me go, please. I'm begging you."

_Yes, beg child. Though it will do you no good. I will taste your suffering, hear the sweet cries of agony. _

"I didn't do anything to you," she sobbed. She opened her eyes toward the voice, tears clouding her vision. She looked up to see a light in the room, and illuminated by the hazy glow was the worst kind of monster. Grid lines covered his sickeningly pale face, and nails jutted out from his skill. Black, soulless, emotionless eyes gazed back at her, unfeeling and cold. Her heart fluttered and nearly stopped, but her lips parted, and she breathed out a soft, "Oh God."

"No, not God," the creature replied. "Something different."

"No… I did nothing to you," she cried. "Please."

She felt hot blood slowly dripping down her arms from her bleeding palms. The pain was terrible, but the fear was worse.

"You called us," he said and held his long, thin arms out. "We came."

"W-we?" she asked, her stomach dropping.

More light filled the dark room and she looked to her left and right. Terrible, hideous, horrendously ugly, deformed creatures appeared. One licked its lips lustily, another growled, one had no face at all. She began to tremble and yanked at her binds. She yanked at the blood hole in her palms but the pain hardly registered at all. She needed to get away.

No, she needed to wake up!

She screwed her eyes shut and shook her head, crying out a chorus of "No's".

"Oh, God help me, please," she sobbed.

"I told you, child, God has no place here," he spoke again. "Your suffering. It tastes so sweet."

"What did I do? What did I do?" she cried.

"You called, and we have come. To fulfill the desires you keep suppressed."

"What desires?" she screeched. "I don't desire this!"

"You do," he said. "I can taste it radiating from you. The pounding of your heart. The smell of your sweat… your blood."

"That's fear you sick freak!" she cried. "I don't want this."

"You opened the box," he said again.

"I held it," she pleaded. "I just touched it. I didn't know. I didn't know what it would do!"

"The truly innocent," he started but paused when he came to stand before the terrible block of wood. He bent down and picked it up, holding it in one palm, and placing the fingers of his other hand delicately on top. "The truly innocent are safe from its power."

"I'm innocent! I'm innocent," she cried and looked at the hideous things to her left and right. She heard another behind her, gargling, but could not see. "I'm catholic. I go to church. I'm wearing a fucking cross around my neck!"

"Do innocents mutilate themselves for pleasure?" the thing asked and her eyes widened.

"I… I stopped… I did it because… to stop the pain," she breathed. She could almost feel the fading scars on the inside of her arms, trailing from her wrist to the crease of her elbows.

"Is that why you avoid the base and lustful exploits of your kind, child?" he asked. He reached out the hand that had rested on top of the box. She tried to kick, lashing out a leg, but a chain came flying from absolutely no where, wrapped around her ankles and ending any hope of a successful struggle. His hand, all at once freezing and burning hot, touched the inside of her mid thigh, prodding with long, thin fingers. She winced, but it was nothing compared to the shooting bolts of pain running down her arms from her palms. "To hide the fresh ones?"

Silent tears leaked from her eyes and down her cheeks. She could taste the salt, her lips wet. The black eyes no longer appeared so emotionless. They were empty, pitch black, but something was within them. Something she could not place.

"You are pure… but not innocent," he told her. His finger slid from her thigh and he stepped away. "We will remedy the former."

"No!" she cried as he began to walk away from her and the other's approached. She looked at the terrible creatures. One with no lips licked his teeth, drool dripping from its bloody face. Another gurgled behind her. She saw a hook in one's hand. A knife in the other. A burning red poker. Long sharp spikes. "Pinhead!"

The more human looking one turned, an indescribable look on his face. She did not know what he thought of the moniker she had bestowed upon him, but it had been the first thing that came to her mind. Nailhead sounded… too strange.

"You said you wanted to hear my suffering… to… to… taste it," she breathed, glancing around at the waiting monsters around her. This strange man seemed to command them, and though she knew hell awaited her, she would rather suffer it at his hands then these beasts. A human face… a partially human face… might take away some of the terror.

"I do child," he responded.

"Th-then my s-suffering should belong t-to you," she said. His lips, which had been slightly parted closed. Black eyes penetrated her soul as she waited, the sound of the gurgling behind her sending waves of nausea through her body. It felt like eternity that he stared at her, and his fingers caressed the box. Her hot blood continued to ooze down her arms, now beginning to dry and hardened. A dark, crusty layer cracking along her skin.

"Interesting."

The world went dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thanks for the reviews! Hopefully you enjoy the new chapter. Chapters will fluctuation in length depending on what I am trying to convey in that chapter. _

_Please let me know what you think! _

_Enjoy!_

**Chapter Two:**

She jolted awake. The room was how it had been when she went to sleep the night before, and sat up to take a closer look. She felt no pain, but she looked down at her palms, smoothing her fingers over the skin, checking for the puncture wounds. She found only clean, untouched skin and no pain radiated from them. She let out a deep breath, trying to shake off the terror of the night before. Never had a dream been so vivid and real. The images stayed with her as if they were memories, but memories so fantastic could not be real and she chalked it up to a terrible nightmare.

She cleared her throat as she got out of bed, still rubbing her hands. She stepped out into the hallway and moved to her roommates rooms. She knew the earthquake had been a dream as well, but she wanted to make sure everyone was alright. She checked Anna's room first, and found her still sleeping soundly, no doubt sleeping through her first class. Ellie moved on to Christine's room and slipped inside. Christine was gone, and Ellie scanned her desk, riddled with the gifts her grandfather had brought her back from the East.

There was no box.

"Just a dream," she breathed, but it was more of a terrible nightmare than anything else. Sitting through the three hours of listening to Christine brag had clearly taken its toll on her. She walked out into the kitchen to find her poster had fallen to the ground and she groaned in frustration. The walls of the suite were painted concrete and nothing seemed to stick. She picked it up off the floor and draped it on the table for later.

She thought of the man with the spikes as she sat down on the couch, and she gently touched the inside of her thighs. Her mother had been so pleased when she finally stopped cutting herself at seventeen, and now at twenty one, everyone thought it was behind her. She felt guilty as she prodded the stinging skin. It hurt, but she could not help it. The feeling of the stinging, the sometimes sharp pain, it was addicting. She did not like it though, no matter what the man with the nails in his face had said in her dreams. It was pain and as far as she was concerned, the definition of pain suggested it was not enjoyable, but she could not stop.

It was the guilt that had brought on the nightmare no doubt. The smiles she put on every time a family member or close friend told her how proud they were of her. The deceit sickened her. She moved her hands from her inner thighs and stood to pour herself some coffee. As bad as Christine could be she always made sure there was a full pot of coffee ready and hot for whoever got up after she left.

She poured herself a cup, the vision of the man with the pins in her head. When she first started she had used a nail from her father's workbench. Perhaps that was why he had the pins. She shook her head. Analyzing her dreams always consumed her and generally she read far too much into them. Still, the dream last night had felt so unbelievably real. She could hardly believe her palms did not have the stigmata like wounds she had felt last night. It had been so terrible, so frightfully real. And those terrible things...

"Stop," she told herself. "Just stop."

She walked into her room with the coffee and put it on her dresser. She pulled on a pair of jeans, changed her t-shirt, and grabbed her cell phone from its place charging on her desk. It began ringing as she went back into the common room and she sat down before looking at the screen. She frowned deeply.

The word _Dad _lit up the screen, but she did not have her father's phone number. She had never had her father's phone number. From time to time he would come back into the house when her mother was between boyfriends and in need of money. He'd hug her and kiss her, promise her mother he was done drinking, and for a time it was wonderful. But then he would start drinking, and then he would start cursing, and then they would start fighting, and then he would start hitting. Ellie would sit in her room waiting, and it was the feel of the blade sinking, and slicing and cutting into her skin that she found solace in. She had not seen him since she was seventeen. The birthday everyone close to her thought she had stopped taking sharp objects to her skin.

She hit the answer button and brought the phone to her ear. Her heart pounded and her mouth was dry, but she simply did not understand.

"Hello?" she asked stiffly.

"Is that anyway to answer the phone for your father?" he slurred and her lower lip trembled. Terrible memories came swimming back to her. Her heart throbbed so hard it nearly hurt as she waited, searching her brain for anything to say. She shook her head, no words coming to her lips. "I asked you a question, girl."

Her hand went to her inner thigh and she pressed down hard, the pain calming her.

"Hello, daddy," she said, voice trembling. "How did you get this number?"

"How'd I get this number? That's what you ask? You ungrateful little bitch. You're just like your whore mother aren't you? I told her to kill you before you left the womb. We might still be together and happy if it wasn't for you."

"Daddy, stop it," she pleaded and tears stung at her eyes. "You're drunk."

"Don't talk to me like that you little cunt," he slurred, his voice grating. "I wish you had never been born."

She hung up and threw the phone, a few little cries leaving her. She wiped her eyes and stood, marching toward the phone. She grabbed it and looked at it, going through her contacts. Her father was not there. She frowned, sniffling, tears drying on her cheeks. She glanced toward the door to their bedrooms.

"I don't understand," she breathed. She hurried to the bathroom and shut the door. She locked it and splashed cold water on her face, her hands trembling. She took in long, deep breaths for a few minutes, pressing her face against the cool glass of the mirror in front of her.

Flashes of last night's dream parading through her mind along with snap shots of her lonely and unhappy childhood. When she recovered slightly she looked at the phone again, looking at her received calls. Her last call, missed or received, was from yesterday at eleven P.M.

"The fuck," she breathed. Her father's words were ringing in her ears and her chest tightened. The conversation had happened. She heard it, it happened. Why her phone showed no signs of it, why her phone had his number in her contacts as dad she didn't know. But it happened. It had to have. If it hadn't, than that would mean she was really beginning to lose it.

She opened the mirror and reached inside for a disposable razor. Her fingers trembled and she told herself to stop but she couldn't. She was confused, her heart was pounded, her throat ached, tears trailed from her eyes to her lips. She needed it to stop. She needed the world to stop spinning and the pain in her chest to go away. She broke the plastic of the razor and knocked one of the blades free. It fell to the floor and clattered against the tile. She bent down and grabbed it, the blade slicing into her finger tips in her haste.

She pulled down her jeans and sat on the edge of the tub. She pressed the blade to the inside of her thigh, over a semi-healed little slice. A deep breath immediately left her and the pain consumed her. She pushed it in deeper, sinking the small blade deeper into her soft flesh. It hurt and she cried out slightly, but the world seemed to slow and her heart beat calmed. The trembling of her hands ceased as she focused on the pain.

She felt the feeling of peace wash over her and a little smile came to her face. For a moment everything vanished and she was in absolute peace. It faded when she looked down and she saw the extent of what she had done. The small blade was pressed deep into her thigh and blood poured from the long sliced line before it. It was carved into her leg and she felt sick. The skin was flayed, a flap falling to the side to reveal the pink muscle underneath. Her eyes widened. She acted on impulse. Her fingers jumped forward and she tried to dig the blade out. She tore the flesh apart but it only bled more. The blade was stuck. Her fingers slipped against the blade and she sliced her fingers. Blood was everywhere and her heart pounded. The world began to spin again.

Panic, Horror. Pain.

She jerked when the phone rang and she found herself on the couch. She touched her thigh to find it fine. No worse today than it was yesterday. She picked up the phone to see the word _Momma _written on the screen. She sighed and touched her forehead. She answered, and though her mother could hear the tension in her voice, she managed to convince her she was feeling just fine, and end the conversation early.

She walked to the bathroom, her head pounding from the bombardment of emotions and hallucinations, and she slowly removed her clothing. As she pulled her jeans down she checked her thighs, pleased to see just the normal little red lines from the day prior.

"Mutilate myself for self-pleasure," she mumbled, remembering the dream man's words. "I don't enjoy it."

She remembered his black eyes, the way they seemed to pierce her soul. If it was possible to touch one's soul, he did so with his eyes. But he was not real, just a figment of her imagination, and she needed to stop thinking of him as if he were not.

_Just another man_, she thought sardonically with a semi-amused smile, _they ever stick around when they promise._

Still, as she stepped under the hot spray she wondered just how deep those nails had penetrated into his face. He had been bleeding too. Strange bleeding wounds on his chest.

She wished she had known it was a dream when she was in it. She might have asked him how it happened. But it had been so incredibly vivid, so real, that no matter how crazy and ridiculous it was she never truly believed it had not been reality. Even though it had been a dream she was slightly ashamed at how she had given up so easily. She had given herself to the pinhead man. But she defied anyone to tell her they would not have done the same. He at the very least looked like a man. Rather him than those things.

Her hand slid between her legs to touch the painful flesh. She remembered the sound of her father's voice on the phone. Something was wrong with her, but she was afraid what telling someone might bring. No doubt her mother would panic, her friends would end up watching her like a hawk, and she would look absolutely insane. Though at the moment, she was also genuinely worrying about her sanity herself.

Her hand trembled as she reached out for the razor. She was only going to shave, she told herself. Right now she was in no condition to cut herself. The images of her day nightmare ran through her brain. The blood, the sight of the razor sunken into her soft flesh. Digging with her fingers.

"I won't hurt myself," she whispered and put the razor down. Having it in her hand was too tempting. She could wait. "I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself."

She turned her back to the hot spray of the water and closed her eyes. The water washed over her, soothing her, helping wash the pain, fear, confusion… possible psychosis… from her. She let out a few deep breaths and massaged her own arms, letting the feeling of relaxation run away with her. She had a terrible nightmare last night brought on by guilt, and it had preventing a healthy amount of sleep. As a result she fallen asleep momentarily on the couch and had another nightmare. That's all it was.

"I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself."

She felt her heart beat begin to return to normal and she was not so frightened anymore. Everything was alright. Everything was OK. Calm settled in her bones.

"I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself," she chanted in a hushed voice as she rinsed her hair. "I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself. I won't hurt myself."

She reached out and yanked the shower curtain to the side. Black, soulless eyes stared back. A white face loomed in front of her, nails jutting out of grid marked skin. As she threw herself backward into the back of the shower and slid to the ground with a harsh thud her eyes found the bleeding flesh of his chest, and the hooked, twisted skin of his bare belly button. She stared up at him more in wonder than in fear.

"I will," he answered, eyes widening just a fraction of an inch and the smallest ghost of a smile on his pale cruel lips.


End file.
